Queen Elizabeth I
by blairdrof
Summary: When Quinn drops off the face of the Earth during the summer, Rachel takes matters into her own hands to find out what's going on in her life.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Queen Elizabeth I

**Author:** blairdrof

**Pairing:** Faberry - with references to Finchel and Brittana

**Rating:** T - for language and slight (very very slight) sexual undertones.

**Summary:** When Quinn drops off the face of the Earth during the summer, Rachel takes matters into her own hands to find out what's going on in her life.

**Spoilers:** Season 3, Episode 1: _The Purple Piano Project_

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of these characters, nor am I in any way affiliated to Glee. Everything you'll find here is the product of my imagination.

**A/N:** Before you start reading this, I'd recommend watching the Season 3 premiere, otherwise, the last chapter won't make much sense. Also, I'd like to give a shout-out to _vondrunkaton_ for being a lovely beta (and incredible author).

* * *

><p>Leaning back against a wooden table overflowing with discarded plastic cups and a handful of empty bottles of beer, Rachel stared down at her own cup. Her face scrunched up in a disgusted grimace as the little bubbles rose and popped in the beer. She traced the rim of the cup with her fingertip, wondering why she had even been handed beer. She had been absolutely serious when she had made her pledge, in front of the entire Glee Club, to never consume alcohol again. But of course, she sighed, no one had taken her word seriously.<p>

She looked up and let her eyes scan the party going on around her in Noah's backyard. Despite their loss at Nationals, everyone in the club had been beyond welcoming about this impromptu celebration. Sure, they had lost; and yeah, it had been Finn's fault -and, by extension, hers as well-, but they had been to New York, they had been to Nationals, they had proven themselves in front of thousands, and that meant that Glee would be around for another year without risk of being shut down. Now the school year was over, and the sense of relief that had washed over all of their shoulders had been almost palpable. Yes, this party had been a good idea.

She was somewhat secluded from the group, and no one seemed to really notice her absence. Then again, she was almost one hundred percent sure that everyone was drunk. Summer brought on heat, and heat brought on thirst, and that led to a bunch of kids getting drunk in less than an hour. She surveyed the group, a tiny smile curling on her lips. An exceedingly happy Tina was sitting on Mike's lap by the stereo, her face buried in his neck while he tried to play DJ -which actually consisted of searching for a new song on the iPod on Tina's lap, which was connected to the stereo, whenever the song that came on wasn't good enough for dancing. Finn was sprawled out on the grass, his eyes seemed closed, but she wasn't sure -they were regularly squinted in a variety of situations, so this might not be the effect of the alcohol. He was moving his hand around while pointing at the sky, probably seeing some character from _Call of Duty_ that wasn't really there. Mercedes was sitting by his head, a dopey grin on her face as her fingers were buried in Finn's hair, laughing loudly whenever he said something. Kurt and Blaine were sitting by them as Kurt rambled on and on about how hard it was to get his hands on the latest _Vogue_ and _i-D_ in Lima while Blaine listened to him -and, Rachel noted, Kurt was prim and proper even while under the influence. To the other side of the yard, Brittany was juggling bottles of God-knows-what and playing bartender while she danced around Santana, who kept handing out drinks for Noah and Lauren to try out. Sam kept fiddling with the handles of Artie's wheelchair as they both badgered the cheerful blonde to give them drinks, too. And Santana seemed to be getting along with Lauren a lot better than she had in the past -which was always a good thing, because their interactions had scared the hell out of Rachel on occasion.

Something seemed off, though. And she couldn't really put her finger on what it was until she glanced a little bit off to the side of the group. Ah, there it was. Quinn was standing with the group, observing their interactions from up close. There was a cup in her hand, too, but she didn't appear to be half as drunk as everyone else. From what Rachel could tell, her entire body language seemed defeated and tired. And when her eyes connected with the blonde's from across the yard, she felt a pang in her chest at the sadness she saw oozing from them.

Here they were, all of them, celebrating, and Quinn looked like she was masking her kicked-puppy attitude. But why? Why was she hiding? Why was she so sad? With a frown and a huff, Rachel looked away from her and into her cup again. She couldn't stand seeing Quinn like that, and she needed something other than beer to quench her thirst. With a heavy sigh, she wandered into the house.

She had been to Noah's house a handful of times, so it was accurate to say that she knew her way around. She padded towards the kitchen and opened the door of the fridge, quickly searching for any non-alcoholic beverages. Ah! Apple juice. Success! She tilted her head with a dazzling smile to herself. That was _perfect_. She could drink as much as she wanted, she could stay sober, and -considering the state everyone was in- no one would bother her about not drinking beer. She was sure that no one would notice the lack of bubbles in their drunken stupor. Pulling the jar out of the fridge, she closed the door and poured the now lukewarm beer down the sink. She refilled her cup with the juice and took a long, cool sip. She turned around to lean against the counter, revelling in the refreshing feeling that spread in her mouth and throat.

She kept on drinking greedily from the cup, chugging down the liquid until the cup was practically tilted over her face, her head thrown back. She was surprised to find Quinn sneaking past her in the kitchen as she set her cup down. Upon noticing movement beside her, Quinn froze mid-step and turned towards Rachel, her expression softening into an almost imperceptible smile. Rachel blinked at her, wondering what her reasons were for leaving behind the party in favour of the silence of the house. They stayed quiet for a moment, simply looking at each other in the deserted kitchen.

There was nothing that Rachel wanted more than to ask the blonde what was wrong, why she looked so sad. But she refrained from doing so. She knew that, with her luck, someone would interrupt them before Quinn had a chance to answer. Instead, she smiled brightly at Quinn, "I know it's not beer, but... Apple juice?"

Quinn snorted, "No, thanks," she paused, fingers fiddling with the fabric of her summer dress. Then, calmly -almost _too_ calmly, if Rachel thought so herself-, she continued, sculpted eyebrow raised in true Quinn Fabray fashion, "How do you think I stayed sober all night?"

Rachel could swear there was a hint of a smirk lurking behind Quinn's expression, but she wasn't really sure. She nodded silently as she looked towards the jar, noticing for the first time that it was only half full. Silence overcame them again for a few minutes, until Quinn glanced down frowning mildly. Confused, Rachel let her be, and waited. The blonde looked up at her -again with that hurt look lingering behind her eyes- and spoke softly, "Have a good summer, Rachel."

And with that she was gone.

* * *

><p>The following week, the news of Sam's departure was what all the gleeks talked about. So, naturally, Rachel knew Mercedes was hurting. Sure, she hadn't told Rachel about her and Sam, but Rachel just knew. She did have a sixth sense after all. Somehow, though, she had a feeling that the rest of the club weren't as oblivious about the former couple as she had originally thought they were, for both Tina and Noah -of all people- had called to ask how they could cheer Mercedes up.<p>

She had to stop herself from rolling her eyes when Noah suggested yet another party at his house. Despite what everyone else thought, she knew Noah was actually a good guy, and she had Lauren to thank for bringing that out in him. She also knew that he was offering his house again only because it was the only parent free house, since his mother had travelled up state with his little sister to visit their aunt.

Rachel pondered over the idea while she worked out on her elliptical that morning. A part of her believed that a party wasn't exactly the best idea, since -in her mind- parties were meant to be celebrations, and the last thing Mercedes would want to do was to celebrate that her clandestine boyfriend was gone. Yet another part of her was glad that her glee mates were bonding this well and were genuinely trying to make Mercedes -and, Rachel suspected, probably themselves as well- feel better about the fact that such a nice guy as Sam had moved away. Besides, she hated to admit it, but she was kind of looking forward to plotting a way to sneak around again to avoid the preposterous consumption of alcohol that she knew everyone would be indulging in if said party took place.

She stepped away from the elliptical and picked her phone from her bed. She had made up her mind. Quickly typing out a message to Noah to confirm the party and to let everyone else know about it, she made her way to the bathroom to take a quick shower.

That evening, she was overcome by a sense of déjà vu as she leaned against the same wooden table as the week before. Except that this time there was apple juice in her cup, and Quinn was mysteriously absent. She chuckled bitterly to herself. Why was _that_ the first thing she noticed?

Because it was weird. It was simply odd that Quinn wasn't there for Mercedes, whom Rachel had thought was close to the blonde. Or had been, at some point. What was also strange was that she was so concerned about that at a time like this. She was in a party with people she could finally call friends, with people who had finally included her and made her feel chosen and special. She had become incredibly close with Kurt in New York, and she could now call him her best friend. She finally had Finn as a boyfriend, the boy she had been pinning after for years and who now wanted her back, despite everything they had been through. And yet, all she could do was bring up theories on Quinn's absence. She made a list in her mind of anything that could have led to this.

Quinn had always been somewhat of an introvert, so analysing her possible feelings was sort of out of the question. Except the sadness. There was always sadness. It seemed to haunt Rachel whenever their eyes connected. Then there was the fact that Quinn had distanced herself from everyone except Brittany and Santana in New York. That wasn't particularly strange, since they had had that odd kind of friendship for as long as Rachel could remember. Quinn hadn't seemed to be interested in Finn the previous week, so avoiding him was out of the question. So what could it be? What could have made Quinn pass out on being there for Mercedes?

As she mulled over the thoughts in her head, a sense of dread washed down Rachel's spine. There was something she hadn't really taken into account. Something about the party the previous week, something Quinn had said, but what had it- "Hey, Rach," Finn stumbled over to her with a dopey grin, interrupting her train of thought. He placed a sloppy kiss to her forehead and pulled her towards the rest of the group. And, as the music seeped into her senses -practically bursting her eardrums- all thoughts of Quinn Fabray fled her brain.

* * *

><p>The Hummel residence was quickly turning into the go-to place for reunions. Given her blossoming friendship with Kurt, her fondness for Blaine, and her relationship with Finn, it seemed only natural for them to gather around for dinner at Burt Hummel's house, along with Mercedes and Tina. Besides, ever since their mishap at Nationals, she had insisted that Finn try his hand at friendship with Mercedes and Tina as well, as some sort of way of asking for forgiveness. She had hung out with them since they had joined Glee Club along with Kurt, but she wanted Finn to be involved in her friendships as well. It was easy, since he already got along really well with both Kurt and Blaine.<p>

Their dinner reunions were similar to their Glee Club parties, sans alcohol and with a lot more class. Because what could be classier than Kurt and Finn -though the latter was usually verbally forced by Kurt- cooking for them a number of somewhat exotic dishes, the names of which only Kurt could pronounce. And, of course, Burt and Carole were glad that this was their idea of fun and bonding, since there was no alcohol involved, and the boys remained in the safety of their home.

They would get together two or three times a week. By the third week, when Mercedes seemed to be feeling better about Sam being gone, she suggested that they invite Brittany and Santana along the next time. Rachel gave the idea some quick thinking over, and accepted gladly. Sure, Santana could be unpleasant to her every now and then, but it would certainly be toned down if Brittany was around. She smiled brightly at Mercedes and Tina as they made their way to the door after dessert.

Once in the porch, Tina turned towards her and Finn -who was apparently, Rachel barely realized, standing behind her, holding the door open- and said with a warm smile, "Thanks for dinner, guys. This summer is really looking up."

It was then that something clicked in Rachel's mind, and her own smile faltered as Finn closed the door after Tina turned around to walk towards Mercedes' car. _Have a good summer, Rachel_. That was what Quinn had said. The way Rachel saw it, Quinn hadn't expected to see her again until school began again. Did that apply to everyone else in Glee Club?

Rachel turned to Finn, putting on her best tired expression, and told him she should be leaving, too. She couldn't really stay there. She needed to know what it all meant. There was definitely something wrong with Quinn Fabray, and she was determined to find out what it was and fix it.

* * *

><p>After having gathered and organized all her thoughts in a PowerPoint presentation that night, a lot more questions had made their way into her mind. And she had no answers whatsoever. So, the following morning, she made a little trip to the one person she knew would be happy to dig up information on the blonde -or any other hot girl, for that matter-, especially if it was Rachel asking.<p>

"Oh my _God_, Rachel Berry! Am I dreaming? Can I have your bra?" was the response she received as the door opened before her, even before she could open her mouth to speak.

Rachel did her best to contain her exasperation, and let out a silent huff instead, "No, you may _not_, Jacob. I've come to your doorstep in need of your services."

The grin that spread on his face practically made the corners of his lips bury themselves in his fro, and Rachel couldn't help but wince in repulsion at the perverted thoughts that were most likely running through his mind.

"Not that kind of services," she barked, looking up at him with a meek attempt at a glare. "I know you own several cameras, both for photographs and videos. And I know you have somewhat of an uncanny ability to track people down and discover information about them."

"That I do," he grinned, his sweaty hand all but slipping from the door handle.

"Well, I need your knack for stalking in order to investigate someone," she continued, ignoring his comment, and trying her best at being civil towards this... this disgusting _creature_. She knew it was a little manipulative of her to come to him, considering his very much blatant -and inappropriate- crush on her, but she also knew that -creepy as it was- his stalking would come in handy. "I'm willing to pay you cash," she added for good measure.

His grin turned curious, and he looked her up and down, "What do you need?"

She smiled, she had him in the bag. Pulling out a manila folder from her bag, she started again, and handed it to him, "I need to find out what Quinn Fabray has been doing this summer so far. Any information you gather, I expect to know: her whereabouts, her habits, her friends. Every single detail, no questions asked. And I'll pay you for everything you get, pictures, video, everything."

His smile remained in place, though she could see the questions swirling in that peanut sized brain of his. He seemed to ponder on the offer for a moment, and then replied with a nod, "I'll do some digging. I'll call you as soon as I get something," then his smile turned into that perverted grin again, "Can I get your number?"

She mentally scolded herself. Of course there was a flaw in her plan, she had only come up with it the previous night, and that certainly wasn't enough time to prepare everything and calculate every possibility, but she couldn't bring herself to wait. Still, giving Jacob Ben Israel her number was a small price to pay if she wanted to help Quinn. Help her with what? She still didn't know, but, then again, that's why she was here.

She handed him a tiny paper with her number scribbled on it neatly, and she could have sworn she heard him say "Wanky, wanky," after the door closed behind him.

* * *

><p>It had been three days since her visit to Jacob, and Rachel's mind was reeling. Why hadn't he called yet? She pushed her salad around with her fork while the group around her chatted animatedly about one thing or the other, Finn's arm thrown snugly behind her back to rest atop the back of her chair.<p>

She vaguely heard Mercedes asking Santana what brand of cigars she smoked before singing, and she barely caught a glimpse of the disapproving glance Brittany threw Santana's way. Well, _that_ was interesting... though certainly not more interesting than her endless number of theories, all of which revolved around Quinn. She blamed it all on her worrisome nature.

She was pulled out of her thoughts by Santana, "Hey, Berry, are you going to eat that?" she asked pointing towards the practically untouched food in Rachel's plate. The tiny brunette looked up at Santana, forcing a smile on her face, and shook her head meekly. "Can I take it, then?" Santana inquired again, with what Rachel thought was a shred of uncertainty.

"Sure," she replied, lifting the plate and passing it to the other girl. Even her surprise at Santana smiling her _thanks_ at her and being pleasant to _her_ were trumped by her thoughts of Quinn. Here she was, having civilised dinner with people who were her friends, and people -namely, Santana- who were actually making an effort to befriend her, and yet, all she could do was think of Quinn Fabray, who had rejected her friendship over and over.

Later, when the only ones left were Blaine and herself, and Finn had pulled her up to his room -presumably to make out again-, she was mildly shocked when the tall boy sat her gently on his bed to then sit down next to her, concern written all over his face.

"Are you okay?" he asked, turning his face to look at her.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" she replied with an awkward chuckle, avoiding his gaze as the grip of her fingers on the comforter tightened.

"It's just-You've been really quiet all night, and like, what's that word, introspect?" he began, half-smiling at her.

"_Introverted_," she interrupted. It was automatic these days. Finn would mess up on a word, and she'd correct him. She was used to lowering her vocabulary range around him, she didn't want him to feel bad about not knowing what she was talking about. Even if he still never knew what she talked about anyway.

"Yeah, introverted. You barely ate, you didn't really talk. I'm not even talking about your weird rants about whatever, but just about anything. It was like you weren't even there," he explained, and then just looked at her, waiting for an answer.

"I'm just worried, that's all," she replied, gaze downcast and voice low.

He lifted a large hand to rest on her shoulder -in what he believed to be a soothing manner- and inquired, "About what?"

Rachel bit her lip, his words barely registering, "I'm worried about Quinn."

"Why are you worried about _her_?" he chuckled. He actually _chuckled_. She knew that his comment about her long-winded rants should have hurt more than this, but she was actually offended on Quinn's behalf. Because, hadn't he been at the parties? Hadn't he noticed just how sad Quinn had been? Had he even noticed that she hadn't been at the last party? Did he even _care_?

"She's been distant from everyone. Don't you even care about why? Don't you worry about her?" Rachel asked, turning towards him.

"Well," he shrugged, "not really. I mean, I liked her, but she's not my girlfriend anymore, so I don't really have to listen to her," he shrugged again, "why do you even care, though? I mean, she was like, a bitch to me, and she was a bitch to _you_," he went on, and Rachel stared at him in disbelief, jaw slack.

She stood up to stand in front of him, anger beginning to replace the pang of hurt she felt at that moment, "But she _was_ your girlfriend, Finn. She may have been mean to you for breaking up with her. But hasn't it occurred to you that maybe she's hurting?"

He fidgeted on the bed, "Still, why do you care so much about her? She's been horrible to you."

"She's a _person_, Finn. She's allowed to make mistakes and lash out at people, just like you and I are. When I'm upset, I storm out. When you're upset, you kick a chair. When she's upset, she says mean things," she explained, her anger growing with everything he said.

"Still, why do you care about her? I'm _your_ boyfriend, not _hers_," he stood up as well, "Let her friends worry about her," he shrugged again.

Rachel could do nothing but stare at him unbelievingly, "I _am_ her friend. She doesn't have anyone else," she tried to reason with him. Instead, he just gaped at her, "I'm _your_ boyfriend, Rachel. What is it with chicks? When I was with Quinn, we'd fight about _you_. Now I'm with you, and we're fighting about _her_. Why are we even arguing about _Quinn_?"

"Are you serious right now?" she questioned, her voice rising. He threw his hands up in the air and shook his head, "Of course I am. I don't understand why we're fighting over Quinn, when _you_ are my girlfriend and I've made it pretty much clear that I love _you_, not her. At least you talk to me when we're together, and you watch me play video games, and let me do whatever I want. I told you, I don't love Quinn, I love _you_."

Rachel took a step back from him, "You think this is about me being jealous of Quinn for what you two had? This is not about whatever insecurities I may have had in the past, Finn. This is about me being worried about my _friend_, about your ex-girlfriend. And you don't even care about it. You didn't even stop to listen about what reasons I could possibly have to be concerned about her. No, you went straight to thinking this was about _you_. Not everything revolves around you, Finn," she shook her head, stepping towards his bedroom door, "Just because she broke your heart it doesn't mean that you have the right to be indifferent towards her existence, because as far as I know, you broke her heart right back when you broke up with her," she bit on her lip, trying to contain her disdain, "I can't believe _you_, of all people, would care so little about someone who was such a big part of your life. Goodbye, Finn," she finished, leaving him alone in his bedroom, wondering what the hell had just happened.

"Did she just break up with me?" he whispered to himself, frown deepening.

Just outside, on the doorstep, Rachel was fuming. How _dare_ Finn think this was about her being jealous? She couldn't believe the person her own _boyfriend_ had turned into. Did he actually think he was getting away with those snide comments he would throw in mixed with half-assed attempts at compliments? No, sir. He was her boyfriend. He should be treating her better than her own friends. And yet, he kept acting like a self-absorbed prick who seemed to believe that her relationship with Quinn extended solely to fighting with her over him. Who was he to degrade Quinn and herself like that? If only he had taken a little moment to think about it, he would have known that her relationship with Quinn had existed even _before_ he came into the picture. Rachel and Quinn had shared some truly beautiful moments, and Rachel thought Finn should stop acting like a five year old and stop disregarding them. How could he not care about Quinn at all? She had been his first girlfriend. Sure, he didn't love Quinn anymore, but how could anyone ever stop caring for another person they had once loved? How could he talk, _hell_, how could he even _think_ about Quinn as if she were simply a chair he could kick out of the way whenever he got pissed?

Right as she was about to go back inside and give Finn yet another piece of her mind, her phone rang. She pulled it out of her purse and answered it without even bothering to check who was calling her, "_What_?"

"It's Jacob..." he paused.

Rachel shook her head, calming herself down. Sure, the boy was inappropriate most of the time, and pretty much a pervert, but he didn't really deserve her wrath then, "Sorry. Good evening, Jacob,"

"I just wanted you to know that I couldn't find anything," he started, and Rachel's brows furrowed momentarily, "I mean, I asked around and no one knows where she's been or what she's been up to. And I haven't managed to catch her leaving her house, because I have a curfew, so I haven't really been able to follow her around to find out more," he explained and, Rachel thought, he sounded slightly downtrodden.

Rachel sighed, "It's alright, Jacob. Maybe she went away somewhere with her mom for the summer," she replied, closing her eyes as a feeling of defeat coursed through her tiny frame.

"I doubt that. I've seen her mother leave the house a handful of times, and Quinn's bedroom light is on at times," he added, to what Rachel's frown deepened. Well, _that_ was odd.

"Oh, okay," she paused, unsure of what else to say, "how much do I owe you?"

"Nothing. I didn't get the info you requested. Besides, you're Rachel Berry, everything's free for _you_," Jacob stated, and the brunette could practically feel his school boy crush on her returning simply by listening to him. And who knew Jacob Ben Israel could be pleasant every now and then, as well?

"Well, in that case, thank you for trying, anyway, Jacob," she finished with a tiny smile and ended the call. She then descended the steps on the doorstep and walked away from the house and towards her parked car. Screw Finn Hudson and his childishness, she had more important things to do... like finding out what Quinn Fabray's life was like these days.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Queen Elizabeth I

**Author:** blairdrof

**Pairing:** Faberry - with references to Finchel and Brittana

**Rating:** T - for language and slight (very very slight) sexual undertones.

**Summary:** When Quinn drops off the face of the Earth during the summer, Rachel takes matters into her own hands to find out what's going on in her life.

**Spoilers:** Season 3, Episode 1: _The Purple Piano Project_

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of these characters, nor am I in any way affiliated to Glee. Everything you'll find here is the product of my imagination.

**A/N:** Before you start reading this, I'd recommend watching the Season 3 premiere, otherwise, the last chapter won't make much sense. Also, I'd like to give a shout-out to _vondrunkaton_ for being a lovely beta (and incredible author).

* * *

><p>To say that Rachel Berry was devoted to accomplishing her goals was an understatement. She was passionate about everything she did, wanted, or was involved in. So, naturally, she was passionate about finding out more about Quinn. That curiosity and determination, mixed with her decision to avoid Finn for a few days, prompted her to dive head first into her research.<p>

Of course, she couldn't really start investigating without information on how to do so first, so she decided to have a little marathon of any show that could provide her with tips or advice about her methods and her approach. She kneeled on her bed, Google-searching a list of shows dealing with investigation, pondering on which one to watch. _Covert Affairs_, _Criminal Minds_? No, those methods required of too many resources she would never get her hands on. She wasn't part of a government agency. _Law & Order_, _CSI_? No, those wouldn't do either. She wasn't part of the government, period. They'd be useless for her. _Veronica Mars_? Hmm... A high-school teenager working as a Private Investigator. That one should work.

The run to the store to buy the DVDs was a blur, and soon she found herself lounging on her bed with a handful of bags of vegan snacks as the first opening scenes rolled. A few episodes in -and, Rachel had to admit, the show was actually entertaining- and Rachel had pen and notebook by her side, a list of all the things she'd need jotted down neatly. Just to be sure she wasn't missing anything, she kept on watching until well past dinner, when her dad's head poked through her door to ask if there was something wrong, since she had been "holed up in her room all day". After explaining that it was merely research, she turned off the TV and went off to her computer.

She needed something to remind her of her goal and look forward to in the mornings to come. Finding a picture she deemed both appropriate and satisfactory, she printed it out and taped it to the column facing her elliptical. Smiling to herself, she then slid under the sheets and let sleep claim her.

The following morning, when her alarm went off at 9a.m., she jumped off her bed and into her elliptical, falling naturally into her routine. She found herself exercising with more vigour as her eyes stared at the -not at all flattering, and highly pixelated- picture of Queen Elizabeth I of England. She was sure her fathers would find the picture so bizarre that they'd just tilt their heads at her and never ask about what it stood for. Oh well, it made sense to her anyway, and that was all that mattered.

After her daily dose of exercise, she took a quick, refreshing shower, and descended the stairs to fix herself some highly nutritious breakfast. As she waited for the machine to turn the chopped fruits into a smoothie, she perused her phone -which she had neglected completely the previous day-, only to find she had twenty-three unread messages. Seeing that most of them were from Finn, she rolled her eyes and set her phone aside. After stopping the machine and pouring the contents into a tall glass, she moved herself to the counter and -with a little jump- sat on top of it.

She let her fingers curl around the glass, and grabbed her phone in the other hand. She started deleting Finn's messages in twos or threes every couple of sips. She didn't even bother reading them, since she knew what they probably said. The ones she did read, however, were those from Kurt. And she almost spit out her smoothie in amusement at them: "_I couldn't help but overhear your argument, and I agree with you_", "_Finn overreacted. I've already told him he was wrong_", "_He'll call to apologise. Tell him it's okay. I know he meant well_", "_Or maybe you could call him instead?_" And then there was one that had been sent about an hour afterwards, which made Rachel laugh out loud at Finn's blatant stupidity: "_Oh my __**god**__! Please call Finn. I don't care what you say to him. Just __**call**__ him! He thinks you broke up with him and is pestering __**me**__ about it._"

Rachel bit her lower lip, legs dangling back and forth, unsure of what to do. She finished the remnants of her smoothie and set the glass aside. She didn't really want to call Finn. In fact, she still wished to avoid him. She was still mad at him for being so mean about Quinn. She would go on ignoring him for a while. Besides -she rolled her eyes- it wasn't like he didn't ignore her whenever he played video games. He would become so immersed in that world that it was like she didn't even exist. Every single time he turned on the console, he would prioritise the game and leave her behind. Who was she supposed to talk about songs and make out with? Her _palm_? That was part of why she spent so much time with Kurt. Because aside from being her best friend, she knew she could count on him whenever Finn ignored her. Finn could be such a _girl_ sometimes. Rachel was dramatic, and she would always admit to that. But Finn could be even worse. He made this huge deal out of every single thing they disagreed on, going on and on about whatever to make it seem like he was right, and that it was all about himself and his feelings. Well -Rachel thought- he needed to grow up.

"_Tell him I'll talk to him when he stops showing the antics of a hysterical twelve-year-old with symptoms of PMS_" she typed in and sent to Kurt. She never got a reply. She could practically picture Kurt's reaction to such a message. He'd sit there wide eyed at her analogy and then not tell Finn anything. No one knew better than the two of them just how much such a comment would hurt Finn's macho ego.

She hopped off the counter and, after washing the used glass, retreated herself to her bedroom to get ready. List in hand, she roamed the house searching for everything she'd need. Charged phone? _Check_. Pen and notepad? _Check_. Sunglasses? _Check_. Camera? _Check_ -it totally paid off when her dad made a hobby out of photographing every single moment of their vacations together. She went about checking off items, finally dropping to the driver's seat of her car with a thump. Inconspicuous car? Silvery grey was a very frequent colour for cars, right? Yeah. _Check_. Full tank? She leaned over the wheel to look at the console. _Check_. Rachel sighed, hands gripping the wheel steadily. She was ready.

She drove to Quinn's house first -making sure to park at the corner half a block away, out of sight- and turned off the engine. She sat back, the plush surface of the seat moulding against her back comfortably, and watched. She wasn't really sure what she was waiting for, but she waited. After an hour of just sitting there, she started becoming impatient. It was well past eleven, surely Quinn had to be awake by now, right? Right? She waited a bit longer, until her foot -off its own will- began shaking against the carpeted floor of the car. She picked up her list and added at the bottom: "_Be patient_." Yes, this whole thing would absolutely help her work on her patience.

A bit after one, when the growling of her stomach became rather annoying, she drove to the nearest café she could find -she was utterly shocked to find that the _Lima Bean_ wasn't the _only_ café in that God forsaken town- and then back to her previous spot in Quinn's block, now with a large cup of coffee -and a double shot of espresso- in her hand, and a paper bag full of vegan cupcakes resting on the passenger's seat.

Half a cup of coffee, and two cupcakes later -eyes never leaving Quinn's house-, Rachel was impatient again. She turned on the radio, in an attempt to entertain herself somehow. She listened to the news first, as she finished her coffee. Fifteen minutes later, she changed stations and began singing along to a Beatles song around a mouthful of cupcake.

When the radio guy announced it was 5p.m., Rachel slumped back in her seat. This wasn't going well. She couldn't investigate Quinn or follow her if she never left the house. And sitting all day long in her car wasn't exactly her idea of how this was supposed to turn out. Besides, after that amount of coffee, she _really_ needed to pee. She crossed her legs tight in an effort to make the need go away, and succeeded in doing so until shortly after the sun had gone down. But the moment she noticed movement, the need for a bathroom became apparent again, along with the subtle increase of her heart-rate.

She couldn't really make out much, what with the distance and the dim streetlights -since she couldn't really turn on the headlights and give herself away. But she somehow managed to catch sight of a motorcycle -a very loud motorcycle- coming to a halt two houses away from Quinn's. She saw someone walk away from it as its engine roared to life and the motorcycle drove away. And then she saw the person stop at Quinn's doorstep. Before she even had time to pick up her camera, the figure had disappeared into the house. That must have been Quinn, right? Because she could never -in a million years- imagine Judy Fabray getting off of a motorcycle and simply walk into her house.

The loud buzzing of her phone startled Rachel from her thoughts, and she read the text from her daddy asking where she was. With a sigh, she turned on the engine and drove home for the day. She could by no means call that day a victory. After all, all she had seen was a figure arrive in a motorcycle, but she definitely felt a sense of self-satisfaction. If Quinn was arriving home after dark, then she had left her home before Rachel had shown up there. All she had to do was begin her stalking earlier the following day. But first, she dashed past her fathers and into the bathroom.

* * *

><p>The following morning, her alarm went off at 5a.m. She figured that with her precise routine, she'd be at Quinn's well before seven. This time, however, since her dads hadn't left for work yet, she told them not to expect her back until late, and grabbed her iPod as well. What? The wait could be long. She could use the time for something productive and start selecting songs for Glee Club while she watched.<p>

Sadly, that day turned out to be a waste of time. Well, she had scribbled down a couple of songs that could be used in Glee Club, but it had been a waste as far as Quinn was concerned, since she never appeared. All she got throughout the day were a handful of messages from _Finn_ -which she deleted, _again_-, and a very succinct message from Santana. She checked her phone screen again. Santana? Why on earth would _Santana_ text her? Oh right, to tell her they'd be gathering at the Hummel's for dinner again.

Rachel sighed. Well, it was dark already, and no signs of Quinn. She might as well just leave for the day, take a shower and head to that dinner. After her argument with Finn, it'd definitely prove to be an interesting night at least.

She made sure to break her own rule of arriving on time, and arrived half an hour late instead -when she supposed everyone would be there already, so she wouldn't be able to talk with Finn. And she had been right. They were waiting for her to start eating. The dinner went by quickly, since she didn't really participate in their chit-chat. She did, however, notice the tension in the air, and the weird looks Mercedes and Tina kept sending her way, and the way Kurt's eyes shifted almost incessantly back and forth between her and Finn, as if analysing them. What she also noticed -and caught her attention the most- was the almost approving smirk Santana directed at her, and she couldn't help but wonder what she had done to deserve it.

As the night wore on and everyone left, Finn called out to her at the doorway, "Rachel, wait."

She turned around to look at him expectantly, and he began talking, his eyes shifting as he did so, "I'm sorry about the other night. I acted like a jerk. I didn't listen to what you had to say, and I insulted Quinn. So I'm sorry that I upset you. Are we okay?"

Were they? Rachel wondered. If there was anything that those three days of space had given her, it was perspective. She had done a lot of thinking during that time -because really, what else could a person do in a car other than listen to music and think-, and she had pondered on her relationship with Finn. She suddenly remembered Kurt's message. He had told Finn that he had been wrong. Rachel mentally scoffed to herself.

"Did Kurt tell you to say that?" she pursed her lips. Judging by the deer in the headlights look on his face, she had hit the nail on the head. The expression -along with the distinct lack of a verbal response- was all she needed to know. She couldn't believe that Finn would still hold his opinion of Quinn after that argument. Actually, she _could_ believe that. After all, Finn had proven to be even more selfish than she had given him credit for. What she really _couldn't_ believe, though, was that she had ever questioned her goal of going to New York to follow her dream because of him. No, they were _not_ okay. And, as a couple, they probably never would be.

"I see," she continued, nodding her head in understanding, "well, in that case, Finn Hudson, we're done."

That seemed to wake him up from his usual slumbering existence, "Wait, what? _Why_?"

She smiled, "Because you can't look me in the eye and tell me you actually believe you're sorry for insulting Quinn. Because you are arrogant enough to think that Quinn and I have this ongoing feud over you. Because I'm not a prize you can go back to whenever you need your ego to be polished and pampered. Because you ruined Nationals for me -for all of us- just because you wanted to kiss me. Because you were willing to let me sacrifice _my dream_ just to stay here with you instead of leaving for New York after school," she explained firmly. She began walking away from his shocked face before turning around towards him again, "Oh, and one more thing. For future reference? _Never_ chose a video game over spending time with your girlfriend. See you at the next dinner, Finn," she added with a wide smile, finally letting go of him and walking towards her car.

* * *

><p>Rachel wasn't sure if it was sheer luck, or the fact that she felt so good about herself after breaking things off with Finn, but there was definitely <em>something<em> that made her look forward to that day as she drove to Quinn's that morning.

She smiled to herself when, a mere ten minutes after having parked the car, she saw the front door of the Fabray house open. Her smile faltered a heartbeat after that, because she had definitely _not_ been ready for the sight that faced her. There was Quinn, clad in black clothing and boots, hair ablaze in choppy, pink strands. There was _Quinn_, walking out onto the street without a care in the world, as if her appearance was something that clung to her as a second skin.

Reacting quickly, Rachel grabbed her dad's camera and snapped a few unfocused shots. Dumping the camera on the other seat as Quinn turned the corner, she turned on the car and drove slowly after her. She followed Quinn from afar -it wasn't really that hard, since with that hair, there was no way she could ever lose sight of the girl- and stopped the car when she saw Quinn join a group of girls gathered around two large motorcycles in a deserted alley.

She frowned. What was Quinn doing with _these_ people? Couldn't she see that she was better than them? Rachel released the hold her teeth had on her lip and picked up the camera once again. If she wanted to know what Quinn was up to, then she needed to know who these girls were. She took a few pictures of the group -Quinn included-, and then zoomed in on each girl, taking a couple of individual shots of each of them.

Dammit, she should have brought her laptop. Rachel sighed. She'd have to wait until she got home to go over those. Right now, she should focus on Quinn. She observed their interactions for a while. And she felt relief wash over her when she realised that the only thing they seemed to do was sit by the motorcycles talking. She lost sight of Quinn when the group headed inside the shop across the street. After waiting outside for almost an hour, Rachel called it quits for that day and headed back home.

She hurried up the stairs and closed her bedroom door after herself, impatience claiming her again as she plugged the camera to her laptop. She tapped her foot against the floor as the pictures loaded, and her shoulders slouched forward when she saw that -despite being head shots- none of them were neat or clear enough for her to continue her research and find out who they were.

She glanced at the picture of Queen Elizabeth as she walked past it towards her bed, and sighed to herself. She had made progress. She still had time. There was no reason to feel disappointed.

* * *

><p>The rest of the week went by in similar fashion. She'd follow Quinn around, snap pictures, and jot down notes of what she found. Quinn seemed to be spending most days in that alley with those girls -Sheila, Ronnie, and Melissa (a.k.a. the Mack), also known as the Skanks, if her information was correct-, doing nothing but talk and <em>smoke<em>. Rachel had been completely horrified the first time she'd seen Quinn light a cigarette with all the ease in the world to start a habit of chain-smoking until she parted ways with the group.

On Tuesday, she had been so immersed in figuring out what the place Quinn was at was, that she completely forgot about the dinner she was supposed to go to at the Hummel's. She hadn't found out what that other place was, yet. And while the change of scenery was somewhat refreshing, she couldn't help but worry over how -or why- Quinn had got into that yard that looked like a dump and was surrounded by a wire fence.

On Friday, she had finally remembered to text a quick apology to Kurt for missing out that previous dinner, and she had followed Quinn to a make-shift rink. Rachel's eyes had all but bulged out of their sockets upon seeing Quinn pull a number of tricks on a rather old-looking skateboard. As concerned as she was for Quinn's safety whenever her frame flew off a ramp and into the air, she knew that this couldn't possibly be more dangerous that being thrown high up in the air during cheerleading routines and hoping for someone to catch you on time.

On Saturday, as she snapped shot after shot of Quinn's prowess on the skateboard, she received a text from Mercedes telling her about another dinner, this time at her house -well, that was odd-, and asking if she was okay after her break up with Finn. Oh! Rachel remembered. Right, she had broken up with Finn. Funny how she had forgotten about that. She had been so engrossed with finding out more about _Quinn_, that she had actually forgotten about _Finn_ altogether. When six turned into seven, and Quinn was still sitting at the edge of the ramp smoking, Rachel drove home. If she wanted to shower and make it on time to their get together, then she needed to get home earlier.

As she had expected, dinner was awkward. Everyone had thought she was upset about the break up, but, the truth was that Finn seemed to be doing much worse. Well, she wasn't even upset, so it wasn't really that hard to be worse than she was. Finn avoided her for most of the night, and spent most of the time talking with Brittany about things that Rachel didn't really know the meaning of. After promising Kurt to get together to talk at some point of the following week, Santana caught up with her, "Hey, Berry," she smiled.

Santana Lopez actually smiled at her. What was going on with the world?

"Hey there, Santana," Rachel smiled back as the other girl fell in step with her on their way to Rachel's car.

"I just wanted to say," Santana began, her smile widening as she placed a hand on Rachel's shoulder -and Rachel had to admit, she didn't know whether to be scared into oblivion, or pleasantly surprised by the action-, "congratulations for finally dumping Frankenteen."

Shaking herself out of her shock-induced speechlessness, Rachel tilted her head with a warm smile, "Why, thank you. You can have him if you want him." She knew it was mean of her to snap at the other girl like that, but she couldn't really help it. But, instead of the verbal -or possibly even physical- threat she expected, Santana simply chuckled, her lips quickly turning into a smirk, "Nah, I have bigger fish to fry," she said, glancing momentarily at her own car, where Brittany waved at them from the passenger seat, "but I'm glad you realised you deserve better," she commented casually, nodding at Rachel.

"Um, thanks," the tiny brunette replied. What the hell did Santana mean by _that_?

"See you around, Berry," Santana stated, looking at Rachel over her shoulder as she jogged back towards her car.

Well, _that_ was awkward.

* * *

><p>The next two weeks went by the same way, and Rachel could almost call it a routine by then. It had been a week since she had stopped going to Quinn's first thing in the morning. She now drove first to the alley, and if Quinn wasn't there, she'd go to the rink. And if she wasn't there either, she'd try her luck at that wire fence dump. These days, Quinn's house was the last option of them all.<p>

That morning had started out like any other. Rachel drove to the alley, and found it empty. She headed to the rink, only to find that the _Skanks_ were there, but no Quinn in sight. Her frown remained firmly in place as she drove to what she now called "the _dump_" in her mind, yet it dissipated at the sight that greeted her and made her eyes widen.

Imagine Rachel's surprise upon seeing Quinn Fabray -ex-head Cheerio, good Christian straight girl... wait, scratch _that_- pressing a girl up against the wire fence with her body and kissing her in a way that she had never seen anyone kiss another person in, except in movies. Rachel's eyebrows shot up in her forehead, disappearing under her bangs, as she saw Quinn detach her mouth from that other pair of lips to latch onto the neck exposed before her. The brunette's jaw fell slack at the scene she was witnessing. Correction, _woman_ -she thought as she saw the other face.

Quinn Fabray was involved in a make out session -what seemed to be a very _very_ hot make out session at that- with a woman who looked like she doubled their age. Her gaze followed down the lines of their bodies, only to fall and turn into a fixed stare on a pair of skateboards by their feet. Rachel was so shell-shocked about the whole thing that -for the first time since she had started following Quinn a month before- she completely forgot about photographing the deed. Instead, she turned around the car and headed straight home.

Apparently, her expression hadn't worn off by the time she came bursting through the front door, because her dads froze mid-breakfast and stared at her. She blinked at them, first wondering why they looked surprised, and then wondering why they were home at all -only to remember it was a Saturday-, and then all but ran up the stairs and into her room.

As she deliberately face-planted on her bed and the scene she had just witnessed rushed back into her mind, she became aware of a rather unusual, yet very much pleasant, tingling low in her stomach. Oh _God_! This couldn't be happening. She couldn't possibly be _turned on_ by Quinn making out with some skateboarding hag. And yet she was. No, well, she was turned on by the sight of _Quinn_ practically _devouring_ someone else, not exactly by the lady pressed up against the fence, who -in Rachel's honest opinion- seemed to be way too old to be a skater.

Rachel rolled on her bed to stare up at her star-covered ceiling. She couldn't let this happen again. She couldn't let this situation affect her this much. She now knew that Quinn was safe, and healthy, and having fun -and _lots_ of it by the looks of it that morning. And she also knew that if she witnessed Quinn straddling a motorcycle while wearing leather shorts again -like she had that one time-, or making out with another girl or woman again, she'd lose it. _No_. She'd slip into a sexual-frustration-induced coma, she'd self-combust, and then she'd lose it.

She needed to stop following Quinn.

* * *

><p>The following morning, after staring at Queen Elizabeth from her elliptical, Rachel had to refrain from driving to where Quinn would be. Instead, she parked in the other street she knew oh so well, and dragged her feet towards the front door to ring the bell.<p>

As the door opened, she let her eyes take in the sight that was Kurt Hummel at eight in the morning. She briefly wondered why he had chosen to wear a bright green Fedora _indoors_, but he pulled her out of her thoughts, "If you're looking for Finn, he's playing with the sheep in his sleep."

She glared at him. "Forget about _Finn_," she groaned, "I need _your_ advice," she added, shoulders slumping forward as she held up two cups of coffee. Grin spreading, Kurt let her in and led them both into his room, where they plopped down on the bed.

"You _do_ know that when I said we should get together to talk, you were supposed to _call me first_, right?" he asked with a smile. But Rachel was in no mood for teasing and merely looked at him through her lashes.

"Alright," he sat up straight on the bed, hands clasped around his coffee, "how can mister Hummel be of assistance to _you_, child?"

Rachel's eyes dropped to her own coffee for a moment as she chewed on her lip, wondering just how much she would tell him. She looked up again, decided, and began, "I'm not upset about Finn. I never was. It's just-" she paused as a part of her hoped he'd interrupt her. No such luck. "Remember why Finn and I argued in the first place?"

Kurt put down his cup and swallowed before answering, "Yeah, you yelled at him for not caring enough about Quinn."

She nodded, "And do you know why I broke up with him?" she asked, her finger playing with the paper around the cup absent-mindedly.

Kurt nodded again, "Beeeecause he's a selfish teenager who only listens to his hormones instead of to you, and who thinks Quinn is a harpy?"

"Exactly," Rachel confirmed. She shook her head slightly and looked at him again, "I've been worried about Quinn."

"I'm noticing a pattern here," he stated, tilting his head -and his hat- to the side.

Ignoring him, Rachel went on, "I haven't been avoiding you guys or excluding myself from the rest of the world. Well, maybe I have been avoiding Finn, but that's not the point. I've been following Quinn."

"Oh, _Barbra_," Kurt exclaimed, his eyes widening.

"Do you know what she's been doing, Kurt? Do you?" she shrieked, hand beginning to shake around her coffee.

Placing his free hand atop hers gently, he replied in as soothing a voice as he could manage, "No, I don't. Tell me about it if you need to."

"She hasn't been hanging out with the best crowd. She's been skating, and riding motorcycles, and her hair is _pink_. She smokes, Kurt. _Smokes_!" she ranted and he listened patiently. He waited for her to drink from her coffee to go on, "I have the pictures to prove it. All of it. Well, no, not _all_ of it, because I was too shocked to take a picture of her making out with-" her rant came to a halt as her eyes widened, and she wondered if she had said too much.

Kurt observed her calmly. Sure, Rachel _did_ have a flair for drama and a tendency to exaggerate things. But if there were pictures of what she had just described, well, then it was all true. Who was Quinn making out with that not even Rachel could say it, though? He frowned, still calm, and licked his lips to force the question out of his mouth, "Rachel, who was she making out with?"

Her face snapped up and her eyes connected with his own, "She was making out with some woman. I-I di-I don't know who she is. And I didn't take a picture of it. I cou-I couldn't really go on watching, so I went back home," she answered, her gaze dropping immediately.

Were they even talking about the same Quinn Fabray? Because the Quinn he knew was straight. Sure, she had always been on his radar. She had never particularly shown interest in the relationship between Brittany and Santana, and she had always seemed a little inclined to caring too much about Rachel but, as far as he knew for certain, she was straight. Still, he needed to stop analysing Quinn Fabray's sexuality and focus instead on making Rachel feel better about whichever part of her rant was bothering her.

"Well, although I'm positively flabbergasted by this information you're relaying, I have to say that it could be worse," he started, and her eyes shot back to his face to stare at him incredulously, "I mean, she could be abused, or she could have picked up a drug addiction, or she could be murdering people," he shrugged, "I say that a extreme makeover, smoking, or even switching teams is much better than the _other_ alternatives, don't you think?"

Rachel stared at him, mulling over his words, and nodded soundlessly. He looked her up and down, and then asked what had been nagging at the back of his mind ever since she had begun talking about Quinn, "What made you come to me for advice? And advice on _what_, exactly?"

He saw her entire demeanour change at the question, as if a switch had been flipped inside her, and it only sparked his curiosity. She fidgeted on the bed, hands clasping and unclasping, fingers brushing her bangs away from her face repeatedly, until she spoke, "I-I need to stop following her. I have to. And I need you to stop me from doing it again."

"Okay," Kurt blinked, trying to understand, "but why? I mean, not why would you want to stop following her, but why would you need me to _force_ you to stop? Why can't you stop yourself?"

Silence fell over them, as did Rachel's gaze. And when she spoke again, it was barely above a whisper, "Because I felt something."

"Meaning?" he inquired. He was beginning to worry. He had never seen Rachel like this.

"I felt something. When I saw her making out with that woman, pinning her to the fence..." her eyes fluttered, "I felt _something_. I felt something I never felt with Finn. I felt like I was on fire. I don't think I can go through that again. Is that even _normal_?" she rambled, all the while avoiding his eyes.

"Oh, sweetie," he sighed, setting the cups aside and quickly gathering her in his arms, "It _is_ normal. It's completely normal. It's also completely _gay_. But it's normal," he kissed the top of her head, "you have a thing for Quinn Fabray. It's only a big deal if you make it one. And if it helps you feel better, then we'll stop you from following her again, okay?"

She sniffed against his fitted vest, "Thanks, Kurt."

And that's how Rachel Berry spent the rest of the summer either in Kurt's bedroom, or in her own with him by her side, making him watch the episodes of _Veronica Mars_ that she had already watched, watching the remaining episodes of the DVDs, and talking about Blaine and Quinn.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Queen Elizabeth I

**Author:** blairdrof

**Pairing:** Faberry - with references to Finchel and Brittana

**Rating:** T - for language and slight (very very slight) sexual undertones.

**Summary:** When Quinn drops off the face of the Earth during the summer, Rachel takes matters into her own hands to find out what's going on in her life.

**Spoilers:** Season 3, Episode 1: _The Purple Piano Project_

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of these characters, nor am I in any way affiliated to Glee. Everything you'll find here is the product of my imagination.

**A/N:** Before you start reading this, I'd recommend watching the Season 3 premiere, otherwise, the last chapter won't make much sense. Also, I'd like to give a shout-out to _vondrunkaton_ for being a lovely beta (and incredible author).

* * *

><p>Rachel was making her way through the empty parking lot towards her car when she felt a hand wrap around her arm and pull her to a secluded area. Before she even knew what had hit her, she realised that Quinn had her pinned against a motorcycle and was staring at her mildly annoyed.<p>

"Why did you know about that skater?" Quinn gritted through her teeth, arms planted firmly on the motorcycle to either side of Rachel's tiny frame. Oh God, was Quinn riding a motorcycle to school now?

Suddenly -and for some reason she couldn't really question herself about at that moment- overcome with confidence, Rachel spat back, "Why did you get Santana kicked off Glee?"

Quinn stared at her, a deep frown overtaking her features, "What are you talking about?"

"That little stint of yours with the piano? Mr. Schuester banned Santana from Glee because of it. But both you and I know that it was _you_ who set the piano on fire, not _her_," the brunette replied, levelling Quinn's stare with her own.

The taller girl scoffed at her, making Rachel try to step away from her and press back against the motorcycle instead, "That had _nothing_ to do with Santana. And you haven't answered my question. _Why_ did you know about the skater?"

Taking a deep breath, Rachel pondered on her options. She could lie about it and say someone who had seen it had told her; or she could tell Quinn the truth, that she had been stalking her, basically. After Mack's threat, she wasn't sure which one of the answers she could chose from would get her beaten up, so she could only hope that she picked the one that led to her safety.

"I _saw_ you," Rachel replied firmly, watching as Quinn's eyes widened, "I followed you and saw you with her," she went on, and she was momentarily surprised when Quinn pushed herself away from her and paced a full circle before shrieking, "_Jesus_, Berry, are you fucking _kidding_ me? You _followed_ me? What in fucking _hell_ possessed you to do something so incredibly _idiotic_?" she stopped again in front of Rachel, hands on hips, staring at the brunette with curiosity.

"I was worried about you!" Rachel stared back at her defiantly, taking a step forward, "You are sad, Quinn. And you were sad before. You've been sad ever since I can remember. And I was _worried_ about you. I am worried about _you_, okay? And no one knew where you had disappeared to, and I needed to know that you were alright. So I followed you, okay?"

Quinn looked at her wide-eyed, frozen, as the brunette became quiet. "Do you have _any_ idea of what could have happened to you if they had found you spying on us?" Quinn asked, throwing her hands up in frustration.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to trouble you. All I want is for you to stop being sad and go back to Glee Club," Rachel stated, her expression softening and her voice returning to normal volume.

"I'm _not_ in trouble," Quinn retorted with a snort, "Fuck, I'm the smartest person they know, so trust me, they have no idea of what happened. But you could have gotten the living shit beaten out of you if they had found out, Berry. So don't do it again," Rachel stared at Quinn as she spoke, suddenly wanting to squirm under the intensity of the taller girl's gaze, "You need to ask me something, you come to my house and ask _me_. If someone bothers you or threatens you, you come to me and tell _me_. Under no circumstances do you ever follow _me_ or the _Skanks_ again, are we clear?" Upon receiving no response from the petite girl, she raised her voice a bit, "Berry, are we _clear_?"

Rachel nodded weakly, "Yes, Quinn," she paused, seemingly placated, only to speak again with renewed drive, "Just-just know that I'm trying to help you. I don't care about how you look, or how you dress, or about your smoking, or your lesbian tendencies. I would even suggest that we do a Bangles tribute, or songs by the Cure, or Blondie, if you want," she offered with a hopeful tone.

In a matter of seconds, Quinn had Rachel pressed against the motorcycle again, and Rachel had no idea what could have possibly caused that reaction, "What the fuck do you _want_ from me, Berry?"

The brunette simply stared in confusion, as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world, "I am your _friend_, Quinn. I want you to come back to Glee Club when you're ready. And I want you to at least _try_ to be happy. I want to _help you_ be happy," Rachel elaborated, suddenly being pulled into Quinn's eyes, the tug of the sadness she found there threatening to drown her.

Quinn sighed and closed her eyes, "Fine," she opened her eyes, "We'll play it _your_ way. I'll be your _friend_. But don't hold your breath waiting for me to go back to Glee Club, because that's not happening, understood?"

"But _why_?" Rachel insisted, she could feel Quinn's resolve slipping away, "Why won't you go back to the one _thing_ that was good for you, if only for a moment?"

Quinn glared at her bitterly, voice rising quickly, "Because Glee Club destroyed me, Berry!"

"But-" Rachel started again, but Quinn interrupted her, voice suddenly soft as her arms loosened around Rachel and against the motorcycle as her head dropped, "I lost everything because of Glee Club. Don't you understand, Rachel? I'm _tired_ of losing everything I care about because of glee. I'm tired of _hurting_."

Rachel could only look at the girl before her, sadness seeming to seep out of her pores, and all she wanted to do was pull her close and hold her tight until she stopped hurting, "You still have _me_, Quinn. And everyone misses you. They've all asked about you."

Neck still bent, Quinn shook her head, "You don't understand. I lost everything I had, and everything I _wanted_, to Glee Club. I can't go back."

Deciding to take the risk, Rachel gently lifted Quinn's face, her fingers brushing against Quinn's chin, and she was almost surprised to see the faint shimmer of tears gathered at the corners of hazel eyes. "What did you lose, Quinn?" she whispered.

Avoiding the display of vulnerability, Quinn shook her head away from Rachel's grasp and shut her eyes tightly in an attempt to will the tears away, "Drop it. Just _drop_ it, Rachel. Let it go."

Rachel felt relentless. She couldn't comply with that. She couldn't just drop it like it didn't matter. This was _Quinn_, so of course it mattered. She shook her head, "I'm sorry, but I can't do that. What did you lose? I'm trying to help you, Quinn. But I can't do that if you don't let me. So tell me. I'm here. I'm right here, so _talk_ to me. What did you lose?"

The next thing she knew, Quinn's body was pinning her to the motorcycle and Quinn's mouth was covering her own. She felt Quinn's lips press against her forcefully, and she couldn't help the jolt of desire that shot through her spine at the sensation. She was taken back to that one moment when she had seen Quinn making out with the skater, and when the realization hit her, that she was the one in that position now, she felt her entire body be practically consumed by flames. Quinn's lips moved against hers, and soon her tongue was pressing against Rachel's teeth. With every single little thought thrown out of the window, Rachel kissed Quinn back with everything she had. She swallowed Quinn's moan when their tongues made contact, and she barely restrained herself from clutching onto Quinn's shoulders for dear life.

She tried to pull away from Quinn to gulp in a breath, but the taller girl's hands flew to either side of Rachel's face -holding her in place- as her hips shot forward to trap Rachel against the bike. Despite the pain the motorcycle was putting on her back, and despite the wave of arousal that came from their joint hips, threatening to overwhelm her, Rachel continued kissing Quinn, and only attempted to pull away when she felt the cool metal of Quinn's nose ring brush against her cheek. Gently, she pressed the heel of her palm against Quinn's collarbone, successfully separating their mouths. She felt Quinn's laboured breathing rush in puffs against her lips, and she realized she was breathing heavily as well.

"That's what I lost," Quinn whispered against her bruised lips.

Rachel opened her eyes -when had she even closed them?- and stared into Quinn's own, understanding suddenly claiming her brain. She let a suddenly shy smile curl her lips, "Not lost. _Gained_."

Quinn searched Rachel's face. For what? Rachel wasn't sure. Honesty, perhaps? Whatever it was she was looking for, she found it, for a warm, calm smile claimed her own lips as she nodded, "I'm not going back to Glee Club yet, though."

Rachel pursed her lips and nodded in acceptance, "Okay."

"And even though this... _development_ does make me happy, it's going to take more than that to make me really happy," Quinn continued, and Rachel instantly knew what she was talking about.

"That can be arranged. We kept in touch," the brunette replied, her hand finding Quinn's to entwine their fingers against Rachel's hip. Quinn simply nodded in turn, glad that Rachel had understood and hadn't asked for her to elaborate any further than that.

They fell silent for a few minutes, and Rachel did nothing but watch as Quinn looked at her, her breathing calmer now. Then a playful smirk graced Rachel's lips, "Is there _any_ way I can convince you to take a shower, though? Preferably _today_?"

Her smirk turned into a full-blown, dazzling, Rachel Berry smile when Quinn burst into laughter against her, "Yes, Rachel, I'll shower every day."

"Good," the brunette replied with a nod, and Quinn all but jumped away from her when Rachel's phone buzzed in the pocket of her jeans against Quinn's fishnet clad thigh. Quinn recovered quickly, though, and, without an ounce of self-restraint, she pulled her free hand into Rachel's pocket to swiftly fish out the offending gadget.

Rachel saw a frown appear in Quinn's face, a thin line creasing between her brows, and wondered what kind of content the message had to have in order to cause that expression. She found out when Quinn's eyes bore into hers and she asked, her voice dripping with both curiosity and confusion, "Kurt wants to know _what is Queen Elizabeth I doing in your bedroom?_"

The shorter girl barely contained her giggles at the statement and shook her head. "It's an analogy for you. And that's all I'm saying," she replied coyly, and her smile widened when Quinn snorted good-naturedly and handed her a helmet that Rachel thought was too big for her head, "Come on, let me give you a ride home."

She watched Quinn hop on the motorcycle -a Harley, as she was just now noticing-, and straddle it confidently. Rachel dropped every hint of reluctance that she may have had, and tucked the helmet snugly on her head, jumping onto the bike behind Quinn, her arms instantly encircling the taller girl's waist tightly. She couldn't really see it, but she knew Quinn was smiling. It was a first step on the road towards Quinn's happiness, and she was going to do everything in her power to accomplish just that.

Of course, she'd never tell Quinn what Queen Elizabeth I really stood for, because until then, she hadn't even know that the answer had been there all along: _Queen_ was the closest homophone for Quinn, _Elizabeth_ stood for Beth -the next step towards making Quinn happy-, and _I_? Well, _I_ stood for two things, the first being that in Roman numerals it represented number one, and Quinn was the number one person in Rachel's life in terms of importance. As for the second meaning? The combination of the royal title and the name stood for the family Rachel knew could always bring happiness to both Quinn and herself: _Quinn, Beth, and I_.


End file.
